


Warm Winters

by theotpeffect



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotpeffect/pseuds/theotpeffect
Summary: Studying drama was not the most conventional of paths, but Jean loved the thrill of the stage. For a long time, he assumed this is what he was missing in his life. He assumed he needed to monologue and sing more than he needed to breathe. He assumed he needed the lights to be on him more than he needed to see. He assumed he needed the deafening roar of applause when the curtains finally fell to truly live. And he did. But on the nights when make-up still lingered on his face and bouquets of roses adorned his little dorm, he still felt as if he needed something more.Not a change of career. Never that. Something entirely other. For when the winter was too cold.





	Warm Winters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxWinterRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxWinterRose/gifts).



> I hope you like this, xxWinterRose!!!! I enjoyed writing a lot! Have a happy holiday <3

Trost winters were a special kind of frigid. Though in recent years, the amount of snow had significantly dropped. Jean could remember the times it stacked high enough to reach his hips. But the last few winters had been marked by slick roads, a persistent, bone-chilling cold, and not much else. It was more than enough to make going outside uncomfortable, but it still wasn’t the same. Jean had lost the feeling of sleepy contentment previous years had always managed to wrap him in.

            Jean had the sense that the coldness he felt in bed at night, though, was not entirely because of the change in the seasons. He was not only missing the snow, but something else.

            His need was abstract, however. He could no more see it than he could see gravity, he only knew it was there. He only knew that he was missing some kind of warmth that he desperately needed to thrive.

            With each passing winter, the need grew. At first, he mistook it for his passion.

            Studying drama was not the most conventional of paths, but he loved the thrill of the stage. For a long time, he assumed this is what he was missing. He assumed he needed to monologue and sing more than he needed to breathe. He assumed he needed the lights to be on him more than he needed to see. He assumed he needed the deafening roar of applause when the curtains finally fell to truly live. And he did. But on the nights when make-up still lingered on his face and bouquets of roses adorned his little dorm, he still felt as if he needed something more.

            Not a change of career. Never that. Something entirely other. For when the winter was too cold. 

            But it wasn’t until his junior year that he began to feel as if that need had grown almost to a breaking point. Somehow, as he was packing his things into the dorm he had shared with Eren for three years after another too-long summer, he felt this would be the year where he reached his climax. This would be the very first pinnacle in his life.

            Time to break a leg.

 

***

 

            “We won’t make it.”

            “No, we’ll make it,” Sasha said.

            Jean shook his head and began to back away. But before he could go more than a few steps, Connie grasped his shirt in both his fists and shook him. “We’ll _make_ it. Don’t be a damn coward.”

            Jean shoved Connie and sent him stumbling away from him. “I never asked for this!”

            “Stop.” Their professor stepped into the middle of their scene.

            “You didn’t have to shove me that hard,” Connie said. He straightened his shirt out and mimed wiping dust off his shoulders. “Totally unnecessary, dude.”

            “Whoops.”

            “Connie, Jean,” their professor spoke again. He had his arms crossed over his chest. Somehow, despite his borderline tiny stature, he was able to make everyone in the room feel smaller. Especially when they were pinned under his gaze, exactly as Jean and Connie were then. “The end was overacted.”

            “Hah,” Sasha said.

            “Don’t act as if your performance was perfect,” Professor Ackerman said. “You’re too eager. Did your parents finally say they were proud of you? The three of you were about to go on a suicide mission, we shouldn’t see that.”

            _“Hah,”_ Jean said.

            Levi sighed. “Sit down.”

            The three of them shuffled to their seats. Jean threw himself into his seat and set his legs wide, like a disinterested delinquent might in a movie. He liked to put on this persona while he was in class. He didn’t have many friends and he preferred it that way. For a theater major that seemed strange, but he had never been able to stand many people outside of their friend group. This way, there was less chance that he would be approached. If he was quiet, they would just latch onto him, and if he integrated himself, well, that was the most surefire way to gain some unwanted acquaintances.

            But there was one reason Jean wished he didn’t seem so callous in public.

            “—and Marco,” Levi said.

            Marco Bodt shuffled to the front of the room with his hands clasped in front of him in a pose that was oddly reserved for the type of person who would take an improv class. He had looked the same on the first day.

            They had to perform their favorite line or scene in a movie in front of the class as an introductory exercise. Jean had zoned out of most of them, including his own. That is until Marco stood at the front of the classroom.

            When Jean saw him, it was torrential. He was knocked backward, as he would be in a blizzard that teamed up with the wind. But he didn’t think he would feel cold in this storm. Looking at Marco was wholly unlike being whipped in the face by biting snowflakes; looking at Marco was walking into a warm building and quickly forgetting about the cold jaws of winter. He was the feeling of being pressed against a window with a blanket and hot chocolate while the world turned white. He was warmth in the storm.

            But Jean hadn’t spoken to him. After their class had ended, he had managed to build enough courage to tell him his scene was really good. Marco had smiled and ducked his head with a quiet giggle and Jean had forgotten any other words he could speak.

            “Thanks, I liked yours too,” Marco said. They had looked at each other, each waiting for something more to present itself but in the end, they only murmured a goodbye. Their only interactions since had been limited to waved greetings when they saw each other around campus or made eye contact as one of them entered the classroom. 

            The sound of clapping brought Jean back to the present. He was almost disappointed that he missed Marco’s performance. He always put so much passion into everything he did. Levi could give him the most asinine prompt and he would turn it into something worth watching, worth _feeling._

            “I’ve updated the syllabus to reflect the changes I’ve made to the final. I’ve decided this semester it would benefit all of you to be involved in a group.” At the heavy sigh that fell over the classroom, Levi rolled his eyes. “Your individual strengths will only get you so far. You’re all well into your degrees, you’ve finished cultivating your own style of acting. I want you to stretch it and mold it to adhere to someone else’s. Show me how flexible you are.” Everyone began shuffling their bags around and scraping their chairs against the floor. Levi raised his voice over the racket. “Groups are two to three. E-mail me your groups and topics by the end of next week.”

            Jean immediately looked to Connie and Sasha, but they were calling over Reiner and Marco didn’t seem to notice him.

            “Reiner, be in our group!” Sasha said.

            “Hey,” Jean said. When Sasha finally looked at him, her eyes were wide in the same way they were when she had just finished off the last of one of his snacks. “What the hell, we always group up.”

            “You need to stretch your wings,” Connie said. “We are too. Which is why we’re choosing to go with Reiner this time.”

            Jean scoffed. “If you were actually stretching your wings you wouldn’t be pairing with each other either.”

            Reiner and Marco had waded over to their row.

            “I’d love to join you guys,” Reiner said.

            Marco blinked. “Reiner—”

            “You should pair up with Jean instead,” Reiner said. He gently pushed on Marco’s shoulder and began his retreat with Connie and Sasha. “Show off that flexibility of yours.”

            Marco turned red from his cheeks to his ears.

            There were a few moments of deafening silence before Marco cleared his throat. He held his hand out and smiled. His face hadn’t returned to its normal color, but Jean was kind of glad. He didn’t take embarrassment in other people well, but with Marco, he was having an easy time of looking past it, especially when he looked so endearing with the dimple in his right cheek. Marco’s blush was more a highlighter for his freckles. Being flustered was a good look on Marco. Jean could practically feel the warmth emanating from his cheeks.

            “Partners?” Marco asked.

            Jean gave him his lopsided smile and shook his hand. “Partners.”

 

***

 

            Jean had not texted him yet.

            The deadline for their sign-up was looming, but Jean hadn’t contacted Marco about it yet. They would be meeting in class the next day, they could always discuss it after class. The trouble with that, though, was Jean’s persistent habit of forgetting how to speak in Marco’s presence. If they held a brain-storming session, Jean knew he wouldn’t be able to make it through.

_hey it’s jean from improv_

Of course, Marco already knew exactly who was texting him. Jean had entered his contact information in himself. Texting was easier to manage but he was still prone to idiocy, it seemed.

 

_I was just wondering if you had an idea about what we should do?_

           

            For lack of anything better to do, Jean looked over their assignment one more time. It was simple enough. Write a script with a clear theme, set up a camera, perform the script.

            Make sure the script wouldn’t carry the performance.

            Jean didn’t know what that meant. The script was the foundation of performance. Interpretation and execution were important, but even the best actors could only do so much with a shitty script.

            His phone buzzed and Jean’s ears perked up. He practically lunged onto it to read what Marco had sent him.

_I was kind of wondering about a holiday theme?_

_Since we’re so close to Christmas_

_Did you have another idea?_

 

_not really_

 

_Maybe we can look at scripts together?_

_Just for some ideas_

           

            Jean read the texts two, three, ten times over.

            It had been a while since he’d been excited over some texts. He might never have been excited over something so small. The fluttering in his stomach seemed too intense when he was only lying in bed, texting a boy he thought was cute. This was stronger than what he had felt for people before. Before, it was a soft winter’s snow that barely stuck to the ground, but with Marco, right then, he felt as if he were thrust into a ripping blizzard.

            He was so warm.

 

_sounds like a date_

 

***

 

            An eternity passed before their class began. The night before, Jean could hardly sleep. When he finally woke up, just before their noon-time class began, he downed a few cups of coffee and continued to dream of scenarios between him and Marco.

            The night before, he had been unable to stop thinking about him. A million daydreams had passed by his mind and it seemed they weren’t going to stop. Not until Jean saw him, and maybe not even after that.

            But for that moment, while Jean was trying to regain some energy, he let himself indulge. He let himself wonder what it would be like if they went to the library and Jean kissed him deep in the stacks. It would be incredibly easy to get lost in the warmth of Marco’s plump lips. Whatever they had been at the library for would quickly be forgotten as they became enthralled in each other. Even if they ever made it to a table, Jean wouldn’t think he would want to do anything but stare, talk, and play footsie.

            Jean pulled out his phone and called Connie. He needed someone to talk to. Marco was consuming his thoughts more than he was prepared for.

            Even as the phone rang, his thoughts were pulled to Marco yet again. He wondered what it would be like to have Marco as an option when he had news he needed to share with someone. He would love it if he could call Marco even when he had nothing to say. They would call each other during lunches when they couldn’t meet up and during nights when they couldn’t sleep.

            Jean wanted that, needed that easy companionship with Marco.

            “Hey,” Connie said.

            “I’m freaking out, man. Marco and I are supposed to hang out after class.”

            “It’s about time,” Connie said. “Is it, like, a date?”

            Jean sighed. “We’re just gonna talk about the project.”

            “It’d be really easy to turn that into a study date,” Connie sang.

            “We barely know each other,” Jean said. “And that’s why I’m freaking out. What if when we _do_ get to know each other, he, like, doesn’t ever want to speak to me again.”

            “That’s stupid and irrational,” Connie said. “He’s very obviously, painfully gay for you.”

            “Okay, but I’m not the most charming person in the world and he’s just—just perfect. Guys like that don’t date guys like me.”

            “But you just said you guys don’t know each other,” Connie said. “You don’t know he’s perfect or how bad his taste in guys is. Although, clearly, it’s low enough for him to be interested in you.”

            “Ouch.”

            “What I mean is talk to him,” Connie said. “He already seems into you, so what’s the harm in getting to know him better? And let him get to know you?”

            Jean sighed. “I don’t know.”

            “What do you got to lose. If he’s as perfect as you think he is, he’d at least be friends with you.”

            “I don’t know if I could handle that,” Jean said. “Things feel different with him. I guess—I guess I, like, have feelings for him. But that’s stupid because I’ve probably only said ten words to the guy.”

            Jean could hear Connie shuffle around. “Well, shit happens.” The sounds of Connie chewing on a pencil like he always did when he was thinking, carried over the tinny connection of their call. “But shit has a higher chance of happening when you actually, you know, _do_ something.”

            “What if the shit is shit?”

            “Don’t think about that.”

            “Your wisdom is astounding.” Jean flopped onto his bed and groaned. “I get what you’re saying though. I have to do something about this.”

            “Ask him out,” Connie said. “If you don’t, Sasha and I will have to do it for you.”

            “Please, god, no.”

            “Consider it a motivational threat.”

            Connie hung up on him before he had a chance to properly reply.

            He glanced over at the coffee still on his desk and reached for it. He would need all the help he could get if he was going to survive their study time together.

 

***

 

            Class sailed by in a sea of wistful stares and daydreams of futures where everything happened just as Jean wished it would. In one he was a successful actor and Marco was a renowned teacher and they both were living together and well into their relationship. What would it be like to live with Marco, Jean wondered. What would it be like to wake up every morning and see his beautiful face? He could use all the time in the world to discover his every freckle.

            By the time everyone was packing up, Jean felt as if he were only half-awake. If he wasn’t meeting with Marco he was sure he would have just gone home to daydream some more. But as it were, he had an opportunity to know the real Marco, not just the one he fantasized about. He wouldn’t pass that up.

            As he stood and stuffed his things into his backpack, Marco approached his seat.

            “Hey,” he said. His smile was soft and his eyes jumped from Jean’s face to the ground, to the side, and back. Jean wanted to kiss his cheek. “You ready?”

            “Totally,” Jean said. “Where to? Library? Coffee shop? Dorms?” He would go with Marco just about anywhere, as long as he could speak to him.

            Marco hummed. “Hot chocolate does sound really good.”

            “Then we should go to the coffee shop across the street,” Jean said.

            “Awesome,” Marco said.  “Let’s get going then.”

            Jean could have floated the entire way to the coffee shop. As soon as they stepped outside, Marco donned a beanie and wrapped a plump scarf around his face. He looked adorable having only his brown eyes and red nose visible through his mountain of wool.

            “Did you have other any classes today?” Marco asked.

            Jean shook his head. “This is it today. I can’t have anything more than one or two classes a day.”

            Marco laughed. “Anything more than three is just way too much.”

            “Don’t know how my lazy ass survived high school,” Jean said. “What classes did you have?”

            “I just had a teaching course,”

            “You want to be a teacher?” Jean asked.

            He could imagine Marco surrounded by kids with an ease that almost astounded him. Marco always exuded a calm demeanor and one that brings people in with his easy-going magnetism. His students would have no problem falling in love with a teacher like him.

            “Yeah,” Marco said. “I kind of want to give kids the experience I had when I took theater. There are so few creative outlets in schools it feels like, I want to give them a place where they can experiment with what it means to be themselves.”

            Jean smiled. He had been right about Marco being a kind person. He was so soft-spoken, but when he was performing in their class a passion sparked inside of him and leaked from his every pore. Knowing the focus of the fire inside him made it all that more powerful.

            Every time Levi gave Marco a prompt and he cried on command or cracked a joke so well timed that even Jean couldn’t help but giggle, he was envisioning his own stage filled with kids he had once been like.

            “That’s awesome,” Jean said. “I can really see you doing that. You’re—you’re really kind. You’d be the type of teacher I’d love to have.”

            He didn’t know why he had felt the need to say something so intimate. They were still practically strangers but he felt compelled to say those words. If he hadn’t said them, he would have burst. Marco needed to hear them, he needed to know how amazing he was, he needed to know just a fraction of the respect Jean had been gathering for him over the semester.

            “That’s—that’s really sweet, Jean,” Marco said. He ducked his head and pulled his scarf to cover his mouth more fully, but Jean didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes or the dimple on his cheek just before he covered it. “Thank you.”

            “Just saying the truth.” Jean shrugged. “It suits you.”

            “What’s your focus?”

            “Acting,” Jean said.

            Marco smiled. “I figured. You’re really good.”

            Jean shrugged. “I try, but I know I’ve got a ways to go.”

            “I don’t think success is far as you think it is for you,” Marco said. “I always enjoy watching you in class. You’ve got a lot of talent.”

            It was Jean’s turn to duck his head. He hadn’t known that Marco thought his performances were good too. The thought had not even crossed his mind, but now that he was faced with Marco’s opinions of him he could feel his face and his chest becoming hot.

            “Tell me more.” Jean laughed and rubbed at the back of his head. “I, uh, didn’t really know you noticed me.”

            “Of course I noticed you,” Marco said. “You’re good looking and your performances are always so passionate. I always feel like I’m watching a movie when I’m watching you.”

            Jean’s face heated even further. He hadn’t known. But now that he did, he wasn’t sure he could think about anything else. Marco thought of him so highly, he almost didn’t deserve it.

            “See, you’re good at compliments, your students would love the shit out of you.”

            Marco laughed. With that sound, all the tension Jean had been feeling melted away. This was a shift. He couldn’t quite identify what shift, maybe it was the gateway to a friendship, but he knew their walk was a turning point for their relationship.

            He couldn’t wait to finally know him.

 

***

 

            By the end of their afternoon together, they had agreed on filming a scene for a Christmas movie. The climax.

            Jean had been hesitant to agree with something so generic, but then Marco had admitted what had drawn him to the idea in the first place.

            “I don’t know if you’re going to be okay with this,” Marco said with a chuckle. “It’s kind of why I really wanted to pair with Reiner at first. But, um, so I’m gay and I’ve always wanted a romance like straight people have all the time just—just written for a _gay_ romance. The overused tropes and all.” He had licked his lips and swirled his hot chocolate. “But I—I get if you’re uncomfortable with acting in a gay romance.”

            “No, no,” Jean had said, too quick to even hope to be casual. “I’m bi so I—I totally get it.” Marco had actually sat up, with his eyes twinkling and Jean had nearly forgotten what he had wanted to say next. “I’d love to do that with you.”

            They ironed out the details of the scene that afternoon. The sky had gone dark by the time they had parted ways and Jean’s mind was buzzing with daydreams of what they would look like on-screen together.

            Marco had volunteered to send the e-mail to Levi while Jean had volunteered to begin the outline of the script. Levi hadn’t replied with a confirmation, but they had already made a date to meet up and finalize the script.

            Jean had waited five days before he and Marco met up again. Each moment they spent apart, they were texting each other with ideas for backstory and bits of dialogue that came to them late in the night.

            It only took a couple of days before their conversations began mingling with more casual topics. “How was your day?” and “What are you up to?” became more frequent questions as the days went on. By the time for their second meeting, they were more than comfortable with talking face to face. At least, Jean didn’t feel as if his lungs were going to collapse when he began a conversation with Marco anymore. He got butterflies in his stomach, but the nerves that had been keeping him back from pursuing more conversation with Marco were gone. He was comfortable now. He was feeling the warmth in a blizzard.

              “Marco, hey,” Jean said. He had arrived too early, but he still waited near the front doors of the library for Marco. He was willing to wait the extra twenty minutes before their agreed time but he ended up only waiting for a few before Marco appeared. “You’re early.”

            “I could say the same to you,” Marco said.

            Jean shrugged. “I was excited, can you blame me?”

            Marco smiled. “No, it _is_ a really exciting project we’re working on.”

            “Well—” Jean bit his lip. They had only met outside of class once before, but he knew he needed to say this, much like he knew he needed to say all those things about Marco being a great teacher. They both needed to hear it. “That too. But I was most excited to see you.”

            “Oh,” Marco said. His cheeks were already pink from the cold but Jean’s words made him turn a cherry red. “You—you too.”

            Jean nearly tripped over himself. He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond, or how to put into words just how much Marco made his heart pound offbeat or how Marco’s little confessions made his blood feel like warm syrup.

            “Where do you want to sit?” Jean asked. He desperately hoped Marco didn’t notice how his voice cracked.

            “We could take one of the study rooms if there’s one open,” Marco said.

            The study rooms were intended for the people, like them, who would be talking a lot as they worked. Even better, they tended to be easy to hide from others in. Study dates were a more popular usage for the rooms than actual group projects.

            “Okay,” Jean said.

            They wandered around the library until they came upon one whose door was still open. Before someone could ask for them to give the room up for the sake of a quick library blowjob, they hustled inside and closed the door. At Trost University, study rooms were more valuable than gold.

            Marco was quick to unpack his things. Before Jean could blink, Marco was already flipping through one of his notebooks and shuffling through the pages until he came onto a bulleted list that he had written out in his neat penmanship.

            “Got some ideas?” Jean asked.

            Marco lifted the notebook and flipped a few more pages to show Jean the extent of his list. Towards the end, the bullets seemed to morph into narratives rather than quick sentences.

            “A few.”

            Jean threw himself into the seat next to Marco. “We should get started then. Talk to me, baby.”

            Marco regaled him with tropes and scenes that he figured would be good backstory. The extent of the storytelling Marco had conjured was astounding. Entire arcs had been written in his notebook, so fleshed out and filled with symptoms of passion that Jean wanted to see the movie on a screen.

            “Goddamn,” Jean said when Marco was finished. He didn’t know if he meant the story or Marco. Yet again, he had been swept up in a blizzard where he could not feel the cold. They were amazing.

            “Do you like it? Is there something there?”

            “There’s more than something there,” Jean said. “Most of it aligns with what I’ve outlined, but you’ve added more history to the dialogue than I had thought of.”

            “You like the story,” Marco said. He flipped through his notes with a smile.

            “I love it,” Jean said. “You made the characters tender in a real way and you turned the tropes into something believably magical. At least, that’s how I see myself acting everything you’ve written.”

            “Good,” Marco said. “You’ve got an idea of what I’m going for, so I think when we write the finalized version, we should put a lot less than what I have here.”

            “But I’d really like to see their history come out through the dialogue,” Jean said. “There’s so much here it’d be a shame to not use a lot of it.”

            Marco shook his head. “One of the requirements was to not rely on the script writing remember? We can keep it simple, but I think Levi wants us to _act_ everything we want to convey without so many words.”

            “So, like, we keep the trope-y stuff and then—”

            “Then _show_ the history of the characters with body language and the way we deliver the lines.” Marco chewed on his pencil. “I keep getting stuck on the fact that this is an acting class, not a script writing one, so I think what Levi is looking for is a performance rather than a relay of lines.”

            “Okay,” Jean said. He got it. As Marco spoke, he could imagine the millions of ways he could act out the history of his character. The dialogue would be merely a platform for the ways his character could show his love. “So what should the first line be?”

 

***

 

            Jean was busy adjusting the camera as Marco got the set ready. He had managed to rope Reiner and his boyfriend, Bertl, into helping them with the camera and the props. The scene would take place at the climax of their dreamed up movie, and they felt it was of the utmost importance that their characters declare their love while they took a walk in the middle of gentle snow.

            “Okay,” Jean said, and stepped away from the camera with his hands out. “I think it’s good now.”

            Jean pulled his scarf down. He didn’t usually wear such heavy clothes, but they had wanted their clothes to replicate each other, yet remain dichotomous with their color palettes. Jean’s character was all red and black fire. He had a short fuse and spoke too much for his own good. Marco’s character was the opposite. He was crystal blue water. The strong, silent type.

            Jean and Marco had tried hard to get them to complement each other just right. They were opposites who loved in the same way. Jean was excited to make them fully realized on the screen.

            “Reiner,” Marco said. “Can you call the scene and get the camera rolling once we’re in our positions?”

            Jean stumbled over to his place. They would begin at a friendly distance and replicate the friendship they had cultivated through the first and second acts of the story. But as the scene would go on, the tension would heighten and they would come closer and closer, until--

            “Okay, ready when you are,” Bertl said.

            “You’re calling the scene,” Jean said. “You’re supposed to tell _us_ when we should be ready.”

            “Then get your asses ready,” Reiner said. “Call it, Bertl! Action!”

            “A-action!”

            The beep of the camera cued them to begin. They began walking.

 

***

 

            “Something just feels off this Christmas,” Jean said. He sighed and pulled his beanie down over his eyes. “I hate it.”

            “It’s because you were too lazy to decorate,” Marco said, his voice lower and stronger than usual.

            “I never decorate.” Jean waved his hand in the air. “It’s something else.”

            Marco merely hummed and waited for Jean to continue. He knew he would eventually.

            “It’s just—” Jean began, and Marco smiled. “I just want a boyfriend to _be_ with. I want someone I can shop for and someone to sing overplayed Christmas songs with. I want someone to put up with my hum-buggery bullshit and just _love_ me.” Jean looked at Marco, his eyes hooded and his bottom lip bitten. Then he looked away before Marco would notice. _I want you._

            “Someone will love you,” Marco said. “You’re easy to love.”

            Jean’s step missed a beat, but he pretended as if it didn’t happen. “I don’t want just a someone.”

            Marco stopped walking completely. “Do you—” Jean nearly skidded when Marco fell behind him. When he turned and saw Marco’s face, he was looking at the ground with his fists clenched and his jaw tight. “Is it Brian? Is he your—is he your someone?”

            “What? Of course not,” Jean said. “We barely speak to each other.”

            “But every time you do, he’s all over you.”

            Jean shrugged. “Then that’s him, not me. No, there’s—there’s someone else.” He drew circles on the ground with his foot and clasped his hands behind his back, like some lovesick schoolgirl. “Someone I talk to a lot more than him.”

            Marco’s brows scrunched together and he turned away. “I don’t understand. You don’t speak to any other guys except for—” Jean’s only other friends were all girls, and he was gay. There was no one else but— “—me.”

            “Yeah,” Jean whispered. “You.”

            A snowflake hit his cheek—and it melted. Jean tried not to look up at the sky. The lighting was still good, they were under a good number of lamps and they had a ring light attached to the camera for good measure. The fake snow was still falling, but every once in a while, Jean could feel a prick of cold against his skin.

            “Are you joking?”

            Jean blinked. The words were harsher than he had expected them to be. As socially graceless as Marco could be, he had never sounded harsh with Jean before. He took a step back, looked away, crossed his arms over his chest. _It was a mistake. Protect yourself. Protect yourself. Protect yourself._

            “Fuck off.” Jean grit his teeth. “What the hell is with that tone, man?”

            “Someone like you with someone like me?” Marco said. He huffed. “You can’t be serious.”

            “Christ, sorry I ever brought it up.” Jean could feel his throat closing and water pooling in his eyes. He needed to leave.

            “You’re too good for someone like me,” Marco said. Jean stopped. He had been reeling back, trying not to listen, but Marco’s every word stuck to him like burs. He hadn’t expected this one.

            “Now what are you saying?” Jean said. “First you get pissed at me and then tell me something that’s supposed to, what, make me feel bad for you? Jesus, Joseph, I really don’t understand you sometimes.”

            “I can’t take a joke like that,” Marco said. “Not when my feelings for you are this real. I’m sorry I reacted badly because hearing you joke about what I feel for you, _hurts.”_

            “It wasn’t a joke!” Jean said. He stomped closer to Marco and grabbed his jacket. “Can’t you fucking see that? Don’t you see the way I look at you the way I’ve never looked at anyone else? Don’t you get that I go out of my way just to see you?”

            Marco’s eyes widened. “You’re not joking.”

            “No, prick,” Jean said. He leaned his forehead against Marco’s chest. He hadn’t felt a fake snowflake in a while. The tufts of hair that were sticking from his beanie were getting wet, and his cheeks were beginning to sting from the cold. But Marco was warming him. “What I feel is real. I want to take you on dates and buy you your favorite chocolate and kiss you and love you the way I’ve never loved anyone else.”

            Marco shifted. Jean couldn’t tell if he was still acting or if he was thrown off by Jean going off script.

            “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I—I want that too.”

            “I want to know you in every way,” Jean said. He finally lifted his head and stared directly into Marco’s eyes. “Starting with who you are as more than my friend.”

            _“David.”_

            Marco kissed him. His big, warm hands cupped his cheeks and guided his head this way and that, so he could kiss him deeper, deeper, deeper. Breath escaped Jean’s lungs whenever their mouths opened together, but when Marco’s tongue slipped into his mouth, he felt as if he didn’t need it back. All he needed was this.

            He clutched at Marco’s sides and pulled him closer. More—he wanted, _needed_ more. He tugged until Marco was pressed so close to him that he could no longer feel the cold. All there was in that winter snow was Marco. The real Marco.

 

***

 

            Reiner and Bertl had left in a hurry once they were done recording. By that time, the snow was bad enough that Marco and Jean could only race to Jean’s dorm.

            Marco sighed. “Thanks for letting me stay here to wait it out.”

            “Course,” Jean said. “I need some help uploading this anyways.”

            “I really hope Bertl isn’t as shaky with a camera as his hands would suggest he is.”

            Jean laughed. “Levi isn’t grading us on camera work, just the acting.”

            “I really hope we did well,” Marco said. “Doing only one take is hard.”

            “Improv.” Jean rolled his eyes.

            “Improv,” Marco agreed.

            Jean began hunting for the USB to hook the camera and computer up. “For real though, I think we kicked ass.”

            “Yeah,” Marco said. He sounded distant enough that Jean had to look at him. He was chewing on his nails and looking off into the distance, which extended as far as Jean’s wall as far as he could tell.

            “What’s up?” Jean said.

            “Those lines where you went off-script were really good,” Marco said. “They were really raw. Really real.”

            Jean rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. They were real all right.”

            Marco walked closer until Jean was nearly crowded against his desk. “What does that mean?”

            “It means what it means.”

            “Jean,” Marco said.

            “It means—” Jean tapped his fingernail against his desk and bit his lip. The words weren’t coming as they did before, but he knew that he needed to say this, more than he needed to say anything. “It means that wasn’t David talking to Joseph. It was me talking to you.”

            Marco dropped his eyes. And then he smiled. That private smile that Jean had been craving.

            Then it clicked for Jean. This is what he had been missing. Not the snow, or the fame, or the success. This. Acting was his everything, but he suddenly realized that Marco could be his everything too.

            “I want to kiss you so fucking bad,” Jean said.

            “Then what are you waiting for?” Marco said. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve already kissed you.”

            “I definitely kissed you,” Jean said. “And I want to do it again.”

            When Marco’s lips met Jean’s, they were warm.


End file.
